


say it with your lips on me

by rebelsquad (wolveheart)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolveheart/pseuds/rebelsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the new and exciting experiences of dorm life and college life in general, Babe hadn’t thought there could be something more surprising than anything those two things have already thrown at him.</p><p>Then he runs into Eugene Roe. Literally.</p><p>(Or: "things you said after you kissed me")</p>
            </blockquote>





	say it with your lips on me

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely anon who wanted Baberoe + [14\. things you said after you kissed me ](http://wolfandwildling.tumblr.com/post/130464143555/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a>). Duh. What do you mean 10k words is not a mini fic?
> 
> Warnings for attempt at shitty graphic making. Hope you enjoy it nevertheless ^.^

If asked, Babe Heffron would describe himself as a pretty laid back guy with a great interest in the unspecified and the unknown. He’s not the type of person to fixate on one thing, like a career path or favorite kind of pasta, and pursue it and it only for the rest of his life. Instead, he likes to keep his options open, let the wind of possibilities carry him wherever it sees fit.

That doesn’t mean he walks - or, as he’s prone to do, stumbles - through life aimlessly, and neither does it mean that he won’t move heaven and earth if he really, really wants something.

Point in case: when he has to pack his things before leaving home to see the big wide world through the eyes of a college freshman, he finds a piece of crumpled notebook paper titled “shit to do before death” at the bottom of his backpack. He vaguely remembers this to have been a homework exercise for English class. Mostly he’s surprised that there aren’t any stains on it, or that it didn’t end up as a paper ball getting thrown at Bill’s head.

For a moment, Babe considers throwing the note into the trash with all the other high school stuff that he doesn’t need anymore. However, after skimming the list - it ranges from the easily fulfilled “move out” to the more improbable “grow a beard like Gandalf” - he decides to keep it. It might be more a half-hearted guideline rather than an actual bucket list. But it can’t do any harm to have at least some sort of plan, creases generously ignored, in his back pocket. A plan that he can come back to if he loses himself in the vastness of life and the opportunities that the future holds for him.

 

 

Babe’s introduction to college life is, to the surprise of everyone involved, relatively unspectacular. He shares dorm suite number 644 with Bill (“can’t get rid of Gonorrhea that easily, heh”), a worthy ‘Call of Duty’ opponent by the name of John Julian, and another Philly guy, Ralph Spina.

(Sometimes, Spina thinks it’s a good idea to wake Babe up by letting an ice cube melt on the sensitive skin of Babe’s neck. But since he thoughtfully offers one of his self-knit hats as soon as the weather becomes colder, Babe turns a blind eye to the guy’s smaller flaws.)

And then there’s also Joe Toye from across the hall, who somehow ends up hanging out in their dorm for such a copious amount of time that they decide to just add his name to the sign on the door.

Even the people in his classes are, for the most part, friendly and entertaining and easy to become acquainted with.

There’s nothing quite like George Luz sidling up next to you before your first lecture, offering you writing utensils and then giving you a purple sparkly gel pen. Or getting hit by a paper airplane, artfully crafted by one Skip Muck, that tells the story of how Garfield joined the Navy. Not to mention the memorable occasion when the illustrious Harry Welsh had to get a piece of gum cut out of his precious curls by an outrageously gleeful-looking Joe Liebgott.

After less than two weeks, Babe is happy to find that he can mentally tick off two of the bullet points on his list. The list that by this point has somehow wound up under the jar of pickles in his and his suitemates’ fridge.

Between the new and exciting experiences of dorm life and college life in general, Babe hadn’t thought there could be something more surprising than anything those two things have already thrown at him.

Then he runs into Eugene Roe. Literally.

 

Turns out that texting Spina to complain about Julian’s tendency to speak in a terrible German accent while walking across campus is not a good idea if your name is Babe Heffron. One second, he’s putting one foot in front of the other, minding his business, as you do. The next, there’s a shadow in front of him and before he knows it his bony behind and elbows meet with the rough asphalt of the road. There’s a stinging sensation in his right palm that tells him he’s scraped it, his phone screen is now divided into two sides by a giant crack, and his binder with the shamefully loose sheets in there are strewn in a sort of half-circle around him.

The string of curses that leaves his mouth would definitely not make his mama proud.

“Guess that answers the question whether you’re alright,” the shadow says, and of course does it have to be a ridiculously good-looking guy (freshmen shouldn’t look that good, Babe’s sure it violates several laws of physics). This is just Babe’s luck.

Now that the guy is crouching next to him, Babe is actually pretty up close and personal with his face, and how Babe was able to not see him is another thing that probably goes against science. It kind of takes his breath away, that combination of kind eyes with just a hint of mischief and hair so thick Babe wonders whether it would warm up his hands if he were to run them through the soft looking strands.

It’s only then that he remembers his manners and that a collision always involves at least two parties.

He sits up straighter, trying to ignore the fact that this brings him even closer to the masterpiece of a face.

“Uh, yeah, I’m alright,” he says, in an awe-inspiring display of eloquence. “What about you? Sorry for running into you, I just didn’t see you.” And then, because his mouth never knows when to stay shut in situations like this, “I shouldn’t try this whole multitasking thing, it’s gonna get someone killed one day. Bill always says so, and you gotta listen to Wild Bill.”

His attempts at saving the situation go down the drain when he laughs and it sounds pathetically awkward even to his own ears. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “Hi, I’m Babe, and I’d offer you my hand for a handshake but I don’t wanna get my blood on you, so. Sorry about that, too. My ma raised me better than this.”

The guy tilts his head ever so slightly, letting the silence hang between them for a few mortifying seconds. Then he says, “‘s alright. I can take care of the blood, then you can shake my hand.”

Babe nods. “That would be great.” Maybe after that he could also face-palm and wave his dignity goodbye. “Really didn’t mean to run into you.”

The guy’s lips quirk. “You can atone for your crime by buying me coffee.” As an afterthought he adds, “I’m Eugene, by the way. Tell me if you need me to wear a blinking neon sign with my name on it.”

Feeling a little lost, Babe makes a confused noise.

Eugene leans a little closer. “To save myself from your lack of multitasking skills in the future.”

Now Babe feels his cheeks practically burning, but decides to ignore it as best as he can. “Will do, Gene.”

The unexpected use of the nickname startles himself. But then Eugene smiles, eyes crinkling and face lit up, and all Babe can think is that he’s completely and utterly fucked.

 

Looking back, Babe realizes that it was also the moment he subconsciously added “kiss Eugene Roe” to his list. Well, that and a few other things like “make him smile” and “share an extra-large bowl of popcorn at the movies and kiss him good night under the street lights afterwards” and “hold his hand while walking him to class”. To be honest (and Babe is nothing if not honest), Eugene Roe deserves his own list. Needs it, in fact, since the extensive amount of ideas wouldn’t even fit on just one sheet of paper. The reason Babe doesn’t end up writing one is simply that he’s terrified of someone finding it.

Not that he’s overly subtle in his attempts at silently pining for the dark haired med student.

“For fuck’s sake, Babe, you’re leaking your mushy feelings all over the goddamn place,” is Bill’s standard complaint whenever Babe comes back from seeing Eugene. “It’s giving me a rash. Do something about it or I’ll make you pay for the skin treatments I’m gonna end up needing thanks to your pathetic crush.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Babe usually mutters, knowing that it’s a total lie.

Spina just gives him a flat look before going back to helping Julian with his calculus problem set.

The thing is, Babe would love to do something about this entire situation. He’s come up with a dozen scenarios of how he could ask Gene out and confess his feelings. Asking “Is this a date?” the next time they’re lying on Eugene’s bed in companionable silence while doing homework (Eugene) or testing out if it’s possible to tie a Red Vine into a pretzel with just his tongue (Babe), is probably the most probable one to happen.

If only Babe could bring himself to do it. He’s not shy by any means, but he’s painfully aware of how he’s just a lanky ginger guy of mediocre looks and poor coordination with no plan for the future, while Eugene has this kind of quiet grace and intensity about him and, as if that wasn’t enough, a focused determination on becoming a doctor. Eugene is going places, whereas Babe is just stumbling through life trying not to step into gum on the sidewalk. It’s how it is, and Babe knows he couldn’t and wouldn’t want to be anyone else, but it still makes him hesitate enough to just revel in the platonic relationship they currently have.

It’s not like he can kid himself too much, though. Confrontation is inevitable, he knows himself well enough. Knows that he can live with uncertainty and unacknowledged feelings only for a short period of time. And it’s been two damn months. Babe really needs to kick his ass into gear.

 

It takes him another month, during which he becomes acquainted with Eugene’s habit of neglecting himself in favor of his academic career and helping out his friends whenever they need it. It hurts Babe’s heart a little when he finds Gene fast asleep in the library one day, head pillowed on a textbook. Then again, at least he’s here to look out for Gene. Surely that’s a plus.

Renee, the girl living two doors down on Gene’s floor and who in Gene’s words is “the twin sister I never wanted”, certainly thinks so.

“You’re good for each other,” she says, after witnessing Babe’s successful attempt at getting Gene out of the library and to sleep in his own bed. It’s not just the French accent that makes her so endearing, it’s also the softness of her voice, and her smile that warms Babe’s insides more than any hot beverage ever could.

“You know,” she adds after a pause, “he really likes you. And I know you like him. I’m not sure what you’re waiting for, but if you need a sign… it’s in everything the two of you do, and how you do it. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be, alright?” And with those words, she gives Babe’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze and practically floats out the room like the angel Babe believes her to be.

So Babe finally gets his act together. Not on that same day, he wants to give Gene the chance to get a few hours of much-deserved sleep beforehand.

It’s the day after, when the weak November sun gathers up its remaining strength to fill the cloudless blue sky with light. Despite the sunshine the temperatures are far too low to sit idly outside without having to fear for one’s limbs. Fortunately, every one of Babe’s nosy roommates is out for the afternoon, leaving Babe and Gene alone in blessed privacy in Babe’s room.

Since Babe doesn’t want to rush the art of romance, it starts out like any other time they've spent hanging out together.

Eugene’s claimed the bed for himself so he can wrap his perpetually cold feet in the comforter. He’s lying on his stomach, using the pillow to prop up his upper body so there’s at least some space between his face and the open textbook on the mattress.

Babe is sitting on the floor, back leaning against wooden bed frame, with a notepad on his legs. It doesn’t take long for him to abandon his study notes and doodling abstract shapes instead, alternating between the red sharpie in his hand and the orange one in his mouth. The sound of sharpie on paper and the rhythmic tapping of his right foot keep the room from being completely silent.

When Babe turns around after a while to say that he’s going to get snacks and ask if Gene wants some too, he finds that Eugene’s eyes are already on him, gaze calm but sharp.

Heartbeat increasing, Babe opens his mouth and the sharpie falls out, along with the words, “Go out with me?”

Which… is pretty close to what he wanted to say originally. Except his voice is pitched a little higher and he’d imagined himself to be more calm, cool and overall collected.

Eugene raises an eyebrow. “Thought we do that every day.” With a quick glance to the window, he shifts a little to lie more comfortably on his side. “And I’d rather stay in. Wasn’t made for this cold weather.” He can’t hide the beginning of a smirk though.

To keep from spluttering, Babe throws the remaining sharpie at his head.

“Asshole.”

Somehow, Eugene manages to catch the thing, which really just proves Babe’s statement.

Babe takes it as demand for alternative punishment in the form of lightly punching Eugene in the shoulder. It causes his still half-lying friend to lose his balance and tip over so he’s lying on his back.

“I meant on a date, you insufferable wise-ass.”

“Careful, the insufferable wise-ass still hasn’t said yes.”

“Well, then you should hurry the fuck up.” Babe takes the now free pillow and hits Eugene’s chest with it. He has to half-climb onto the bed for that, which brings him automatically closer to Eugene. It also brings him closer to the smirk that has turned into a softer smile, despite getting the air punched out of his lungs.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Eugene says, smiling up at Babe. It’s a confession, yet he makes it sound like an accusation, which means -

Babe pauses, sitting back on his heels, precariously close to the edge of his bed.

“Are you saying that - but if you’re - then why didn’t you -” He doesn’t get to finish communicating his entire train of thought because his sense of balance betrays him and it’s significantly more important to flail with his arms to keep from falling and cracking his head open on the floor.

Fortunately, Eugene has the presence of mind to grab Babe by the collar of his sweater and haul him to safety. Which ends up being Eugene’s upper body, their noses close to touching.

Babe’s sure Eugene can feel his heart thumping heavily against his ribcage.

If he can, he doesn’t let on. All he does is smile crookedly at Babe’s stunned expression.

“Answer’s yes, by the way,” he says into the small space between their mouths, after what seems like an eternity.

And Babe decides to go big instead of home and closes that exact small distance. Not that Eugene objects, the opposite in fact.

It’s still a little awkward at first. Enthusiasm can only do so much when the angle isn’t right and most of your experience comes from tipsy ‘Spin the Bottle’ nights at comparatively well-mannered high school parties. But complaining about it is about the last thing on Babe’s mind.

When they break apart, they’re both a little out of breath, giddy with the implications, the relief of finally having taken this step, and just sheer simple happiness. Babe opens his eyes and meets Eugene’s gaze, sees his own reflection grinning back at him in the impossibly dark pupils. A short breathless laugh escapes him.

“Better than I imagined,” he admits when he trusts his voice again.

Eugene quirks an eyebrow. “Thought about me often, Heffron?”

With a groan, Babe lets his head fall on Eugene’s shoulder.

“Ugh, shut up.” It takes him all of one second before his head snaps back up, realization dawning that now he’s got a foolproof way of ensuring that no words come out of Eugene’s mouth.

Babe’s lips are back on Eugene’s before anyone could’ve said “make me”.

 

 

“Prison and shot! Prison and shot! Prison and shot!” Chanting in unison, Babe and Julian clap their hands until Bill moves his playing figure - the gleaming race car - to the prison field and downs his last sip of whiskey in one swift motion.

He grimaces as he puts the glass down. “Second time in ten minutes, fucking unbelievable.”

“That’s karma for you,” Spina grins, leaning back against the pillow he’s propped up against Julian’s desk drawers to make it less uncomfortable. “Your damn stations have already cost me a fortune. Spending time in prison will do you good.”

“And you can use it to get us more snacks,” Renee throws in, hopeful eyes moving from the fake money bills in her hand to Bill.

His first reaction is a put-upon huff, but it quickly turns into something like a defeated sigh as he heaves himself off the carpeted floor and smooths out his faded jeans. “Only ‘cause I need more alcohol to get me through this misery.” He gives the merry round remaining lazily on the floor around the Monopoly board a once over. “Anyone wanna come with? I could use some help carrying the shit. Or someone to bat their eyelashes at Nixon to make him give up the good stuff.”

Julian perks up. “Well, clearly I should go then. No one can resist these angelic features.” With a flourish, he indicates the general area of his face, making Babe and Spina laugh, and even Eugene cracks a smile.

“I don’t need an angel, I need someone with stealth and a face that doesn’t look like it’s straight out of a Kinder egg commercial.”

With a click of his tongue, Julian gets up and stretches. “Too bad Toye’s at work earning real money, none of this paper bullshit.” He flicks one of the Monopoly ten dollar bills into the air. “And last week I stole two cream cheese bagels from the cafeteria without anyone noticing. I got plenty of stealth, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s true,” Renee adds with a nod of her head. “Remember that one freshmen meeting where everyone was wondering about the smell of fresh fries but no one knew where it came from?”

A murmur goes through the room at the same time as Julian puffs out his admittedly pretty scrawny chest.

“Told you so.”

Bill shrugs. “Fine. Get it done this time and you’re officially this suite’s stealth master.”

Opening the door he’d been leaning against until three minutes ago, Bill motions for Julian to step through. While Julian scrambles over outstretched legs, glasses, the Monopoly board and a near empty bowl of small pretzels, Bill fixes everyone with a stern look.

“Don’t think I won’t realize you cheated once I get back. Be good aspiring adults and pay your fuckin’ rent.”

With that they make to leave, Julian’s “Do I get a badge for ‘stealth master’?” being the last thing the people left behind hear before the suite’s front door is shut louder than necessary. Although, considering the circumstances, maybe it’s just the right volume.

As it turns out, the drizzly November Wednesday two days before Thanksgiving break is the day that the residents of 644 and everyone else in their building find out just why the residence regulations don’t permit rodents and pets in general. Some genius, allegedly from their floor, had sneaked in his four-pawed darling that unfortunately had the audacity to gnaw through several important cables, effectively bringing down the electricity. Naturally, the first person trying to fix it had just made it worse, so now the Wi-Fi isn’t working either.

Without electricity or Wi-Fi or any motivation to brave the disgusting weather, the inhabitants of 644 plus Renee and Eugene had gathered in Babe and Julian’s room to play one of the board games the RA was passing out to everyone who didn’t use this opportunity for other “outdated” activities. As it happened, they ended up with an old version of Monopoly that still had paper money instead of fancy credit cards.

They’d spread out the board, cards and money on the floor and settled down around it, Babe and Eugene leaning against the former one’s bed, with Renee and Julian opposite them against Julian’s bed, Spina making the space in front of the desk his own and Bill taking the last free space by the door. Since just tamely playing a board game seemed a bit boring, they’d decided to spice it up with alcohol, inventing their own kind of Monopoly drinking game. It’s a good thing that Bill’s on his way to get more. Considering the amount of times someone had already ended up in prison, they will need it.

Babe’s turn ends him on his own street and with a sigh of relief he hands the dice to Eugene, who doesn’t have as much luck and joins Babe on Pennsylvania Avenue.

“Rent! Money! Yay!” Babe flicks through his stash of cards to find out the exact amount he can get out of Eugene.

“Don’t get too excited,” Eugene mutters darkly, “I’m so close to being broke I can already taste the crushing debt.”

Babe looks up from his cards, eyes wide. “What? No, I would never let that happen. I’ll… cut you a deal, or lend you money or something.”

With a groan, Spina slumps further and closes his eyes. “Oh god, you should’ve just teamed up right from the start. I knew this would happen.”

“A little bit of sympathy, mercy, and concessions are exactly what this economy needs,” Renee retorts. “Isn’t that what you always say when you borrow money for coffee?”

“That’s different.”

While Renee and Spina slip into a full-blown discussion about the specific differences between the game and real life, Babe leans closer to Eugene observing the scene with mild amusement.

“Don’t worry, I’ll save you from bankruptcy,” he says with a pat on Eugene’s knee.

It earns him a small smile. “My knight in shining armor.” Eugene says it in his usual dry tone, but there’s fondness hiding behind the sarcasm. By now, Babe’s pretty good at hearing between the lines, so to say.

“Well,” he leans back against the bedspread, a little closer this time so their shoulders touch. “You know what they say.”

Grinning, he quickly gives Eugene a peck on the cheek.

“Unlucky at cards, lucky in love.”

  


 

When your relationship is still in its infancy – or the honeymoon phase; which, much to Bill's chagrin, can apparently last as long as two months – not seeing each other face-to-face for two weeks can be quite a hardship.

Christmas break had been wonderful both in the Heffron and the Roe household, but phone calls, texts and video chats could only do so much. Even a photo of Babe with a reindeer headband lying on the couch in a food-induced coma, taken by one of the younger Heffron’s and sent to half the phone's contacts, including Eugene, couldn't lessen the urgency with which words like “miss you“ and “can't wait to see you again“ were uttered.

(“Young love,” Spina sighed on the last day before holidays. He sneered, yet politely averted his gaze while the teenagers in said young love clutched at each other in the face of temporary separation.)

So yeah, Babe had enjoyed his break fiercely, but he's glad to be back amongst his friends, one of whom he usually gets to snog on an almost daily basis.

 

Barely having stepped through their suite’s entrance door, Babe finds himself in a good-natured headlock.

“Hey shithead, next time use some of your precious time and money to write good ol' Bill a Christmas greeting instead of spending it all on your boyfriend,“ are Bill's welcoming words.

Strangely, they really do make Babe feel welcomed.

“I did, idiot,“ Babe protests, although it's muffled by Bill's thick woolen sweater. “Check your texts. That’s what happens when your head’s buried in your ma’s pie.“

Bill sighs.

“This year's was a damn masterpiece, best pie I ever had,” Despite his wistful tone, Bill's grip doesn't ease up one bit.

Babe snorts. “You say that every year. I'm starting to doubt your credibility.“

He gives up on trying to wriggle himself free. He's got a couple of inches on Bill, but Bill's always been a better fighter. 

“Can you please stop turning my hair into tumbleweed and let me go? I got places to be, places where I don’t need birds to confuse my hair with their nest. Places where I know someone who'd enjoy mussing up my hair more than you do.“

“Ugh,“ Bill lets him go at once. “Go, have fun with your boytoy but spare me the details.”

Babe quickly steps away and lugs his bag to his room, dumping it unceremoniously on his unmade bed. Unpacking can wait until later.

He turns back to the entrance area where Bill’s still hovering and watching him as he picks his coat off the floor and impatiently tugs it on. For some reason he can’t get his arm through the sleeve and - oh, his scarf is in there, well, that explains -

“Hey,” Bill interrupts his fight with winter clothing. The bright grin promises nothing good. “Have fun but remember what they taught you in Sex Ed: wrap it before you tap it.”

As Bill dissolves into cackles, Babe decidedly does not blush, only levels his friend with an unimpressed look.

“When I tell Gene you called him 'boytoy', the only one needing protection will be you, and it's gonna be a lot less fun than that implies.“

He finally, finally wins the fight against his coat and skips out the door, leaving the elephant slipper Bill throws bouncing off the door without having hit its target.

It's good to be back.

 

 

After the five minute walk that Babe could probably do in his sleep by now, he arrives at the sparsely decorated front door of Eugene’s suite. He’s met the roommates, at least two of them. No one is really sure where the fourth guy always spends his time, but it sure as hell ain’t his room. Not that Babe really cares, he’s glad for every bit of privacy the universe grants him.

Today he seems lucky once again.

Tim, the guy sharing Eugene’s room, is just about to pull the door shut behind him. When he notices Babe, the blank expression underneath the camouflage colored headscarf gets infinitesimally less pissed off.

A curt nod and “He’s on the couch, don’t know where the others are” is all Babe receives as greeting, then Tim makes himself scarce, winter coat and scowl included.

Babe knows better than to take the borderline unfriendly treatment to heart. Instead he makes better use of his time by pushing open the half-closed door to the suite.

There are a few pair of shoes, mostly boots and sneakers, lying behind the door in a disorderly mess and Babe kicks his own carelessly on top of the disarray. Ignoring the corridor to the left that leads to the bathroom and one of the two double bedrooms, he takes another step to the open common area with the big table in the middle and the armchair and couch arranged around a small TV.

A few fond memories come up at the sight of the couch that had seen its better days before it was owned by a cat person whose four-legged fellow occupant mistook the seating furniture for a scratch post. The torn cloth doesn’t diminish the comfort in the slightest though, as Babe knows from first-hand experience.

True to Tim’s words, there’s a familiar shock of dark hair peeking out behind the back of the couch, indicating a head resting contently on the arm rest.

Babe grins to himself, takes a run-up of four large steps that carries him through the room and then flings himself over the back of the couch like a hurdler, announcing his arrival with the yell “Guess who’s back!”

It’s close to a miracle that he doesn’t accidentally knee Eugene in the groin, instead landing with both knees bracketing Eugene’s hips. The formerly napping assaultee still gets the air knocked out of his lungs as he finds himself covered by 160 pounds of lanky overexcited Heffron.

While the aim for his landing position had apparently been spot on, Babe has grossly underestimated his momentum. In his eagerness to press a kiss on Eugene’s lips - missing the objective by over an inch so he barely meets the corner of Eugene’s mouth - he forfeits his chance to find purchase for his hands.

Before he knows it he finds himself on the floor, right side of his head against the leg of the wooden coffee table.

“Fuck, ouch,” he groans, screwing up his eyes and already certain that the spot is going to bruise and swell. In his imagination this had all seemed much more elegant and heroic.

From the direction of the couch he can hear a muttered “What the -” before there’s a bit of shifting around.

Rolling over onto his back, Babe opens his eyes carefully. He squints up at Eugene leaning over the edge of the couch, regarding the heap of wounded teenager on the floor with a frown.

Babe smiles through the pain, cheeks heating up slightly. “Are you gonna kiss it better if I ask nicely?”

Expression unchanging, Eugene blinks. Then, before the silence can stretch too long, he snorts and the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a disbelieving smile.

“Missed you too.”

With a graceful movement he slides off the couch, joining the injured on the floor.

Babe gets his kiss even without having to ask nicely. Apparently a blinding grin is enough.

 

 

His second semester is drawing to a close and Babe feels it in every fiber of his body. There’s the complete exhaustion of working his ass off for months, of nights too short and nerves too frazzled. But there’s also the relief and excitement of having made it through and looking forward to what the break will bring. All he has to do is finish writing his paper, proofreading it, and then -

“So,” Eugene says quietly as he disposes his bag on the floor and drops into the chair opposite Babe’s. Ignoring the disdainful look the guy at the group table next to theirs shoots him - someone’s taking the library rules a little too seriously here - Eugene carries on. “Any idea what you’re doin’ after?”

It takes a second before the words register, Babe’s mind still occupied by a whirlwind of info about the ETO and military occupational tactics. God, he’s going to be ecstatic once he’s finally fucking done with this paper.

Forcing himself to finish typing his sentence first, he lets Eugene’s question hang in the air before exhaling sharply and looking up from his laptop screen.

“Pizza.” He smiles longingly.

The cafeteria food is surprisingly good, but just the thought of a slice of pizza with extra cheese dripping on his fingers makes him want to get this damn paper done as fast as possible.

“Without olives,” comes the reflexive reply, met with a serious nod on Babe’s part. They understand each other wholeheartedly on that point. Olives, or more specifically their absence, are serious business.

Belatedly, Eugene shakes his head. “No, I actually meant after the semester.”

Brow furrowing, Babe saves his work and closes his laptop.

“Uh. Chill during the break and then start the next semester?” Babe says it slowly, as if every word was a step on an unsteady ladder upwards. He’s a bit sad that his life is not a comic or cartoon; he’d love to see question marks floating around his head.

“No, housing-wise,” Eugene clarifies patiently. His gaze drops to his hands, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jacket that he hasn’t even taken off, even though the library is perfectly heated. “Where, uh, where will you live?”

Understanding dawns on Babe. Still, he decides not to make it too easy. He leans back in his chair, making a pretense of being contemplative.

“Well, let’s see. There’s this guy I know. Pretty great guy, very tolerable, not too bad to have around. Makes good food. Has enough blankets that it’s bearable when he hogs the one you fell asleep under.” Babe ticks the things off on his fingers. “Reads his anatomy textbook to me when I can’t sleep. Carries extra band-aids in his backpack just in case I do something stupid…”

“Where do I find this guy? Sounds like I gotta beat someone up,” Eugene deadpans.

Babe can’t help himself and lets out a laugh, much to the dismay of their neighbor. The hissed ‘shh’ makes Babe roll his eyes, although he does lean over the table and lowers his voice a bit more when he speaks.

“If you thought I’m moving off-campus without taking you with me, you’re weirder than Renee claims you to be.”

Eugene’s shoulders relax. There’s even the hint of a tiny smile in the corners of his lips. “This your way of officially asking me to move in with you?”

“Literally what I’ve been saying for the past minute.” Babe’s eyes become unfocused, gaze turning into a hundred-yard stare, like he’s seeing their future somewhere between the library window and the small patch of green lawn outside the building.

“Think about it. More space and more pizza and more self-cooked food. No roommates. Though maybe they could get a place in the same building, I don’t wanna put on shoes just to beat Julian’s ass at Mario Kart.” Babe’s face lights up. “Maybe we could get a cat.”

Shaking his head in amused disbelief, Eugene smiles. “The only weird one here is you.”

Babe grins, winking and blowing Eugene a kiss. “And yet you wanna shack up and get the full dose of me, myself and I. You must really love me.”

Eugene raises his eyes skywards. “God knows why.” He doesn’t deny it, though.

 

The list resurfaces when Babe finally starts packing up his stuff one day before the scheduled moving day. He’s not sure how the list got into the half-eaten box of Lucky Charms but that’s where he finds it at around midnight when the need for a mid-packing snack arises.

It nearly ends up getting adorned with milk splashes. Babe’s phone chimes with a new message just as he’s drowning his charms in the liquid. Babe would be more embarrassed about being startled into spilling most of the milk over the counter, if it weren’t for the fact that the message is from Eugene and reads ‘mom says she had a door sign made for us’. A slightly blurry picture of the mentioned door sign follows.

‘Tell your mom she’s the best’ Babe sends back, grinning. He adds a kiss emoticon for good measure.

The milk puddle expands to the counter’s edge and begins dropping onto the kitchen tiles. Babe doesn’t even register the rhythmic pit-pat sound, too busy watching his phone screen with rapt attention.

Finally he gets ‘hope that kiss wasn’t meant for my mom’.

With a snort, Babe types ‘nah, for you and you only, my love’.

He’s barely hit ‘send’ before a pyjama-clad Julian appears in the doorway. “Ew, gross. Babe, what the fuck.” Nose wrinkled, he gives Babe a disdainful look.

Babe’s sure his friend is referring to the milky mess on the counter and floor. Well, pretty sure.

Grabbing the list and shoving it in his pocket alongside his phone, Babe graces Julian with a blinding smile.

“You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone,” he sing-songs, just slightly off-key. He even manages to duck in time before the towel Julian throws at him can hit him in the face.

 

 

Despite having slept on a mattress on the floor between unpacked boxes for the past two nights, Babe is in an excellent mood when he unlocks his - their - apartment door on Tuesday. Classes have started again, but so far he seems to be blessed regarding professors and fellow course mates. Chuck gave him a ride home and the mellow pop song that was playing on the radio is still in Babe’s head, making him hum as he opens the door.

Since Eugene’s classes don’t start until next week, he’s not surprised to find the med student at home. He hadn’t expected to find him in such a state though.

Leaning against the door of their bedroom, Babe takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a stack of boxes against the wall on the right side, with the mattress that had functioned as their bed leaning against the small towers. This leaves the rest of the room effectively empty, or at least it would in theory. In practice there are wooden bed parts, screws and pages of a manual instruction booklet strewn in a semi-circle around a visibly distraught Eugene. He’s still wearing pyjamas, but Babe’s pretty sure that the messy hair is not a result of sleeping.

And he doesn’t even notice that there’s another person present until Babe actually enters the room.

“Looks adventurous,” Babe comments, stepping over something that could either be part of a headboard or playground swing. “Need some capable South Philly hands?” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis, and is a little disappointed that Eugene’s not even looking up from the complicated-looking assembling instructions to see it.

“You cut your hand last week while packing clothes,” Eugene says flatly. “Twice. To be exact. I don’t wanna have to get out the bandages.”

“Rude,” Babe replies lightly. There is some truth to Eugene’s words though, he can admit that. He crouches down behind Eugene so he can wrap his arms around the leanly muscled chest and still get a glimpse of what’s apparently much more difficult than the friendly IKEA employee had made it sound like.

“Now’s not the time to play octopus, Heffron.” The chiding words are betrayed by the way Eugene leans back against Babe, and how he sounds already less upset.

“I’m still hurt about your lack of faith in my abilities as a handyman,” Babe retorts, grip tightening. “As the breadwinner in this relationship, assembling furniture should be part of my job.”

Eugene perks up. “Did you bring pizza?”

“See, this is why I like you.” Babe leans his head against Eugene’s shoulder, smiling to himself. “You agree with me on putting pizza in the ‘bread’ category.” He shifts a little on his feet, trying to make himself more comfortable and avoid getting cramps in his legs. “But, no, I thought that with all that time on your hands, you’d cook.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” Over his shoulder, Eugene throws Babe a mock-serious look. “Be glad that Renee’s not here, she’d chew you out for applying gender roles or somethin’.”

Babe hums thoughtfully against Eugene’s shirt. The fabric has gone soft over the years and he likes the feeling of it against his cheek.

“But if Renee were here, our bed would be standing in front of us, our stuff would be unpacked and she’d have talked us into cooking a two-course meal while she watches and looks prettier than a Monet painting.”

“Fair enough,” Eugene relents. Then he sighs, whole body slumping against Babe’s. “I gotta get this done or we’ll have to sleep in the living room.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind that too much, I still got that air mattress - okay, okay,” Babe laughs, even after getting an elbow in his stomach. “Show the bed frame who’s boss. Unlike other people in this room,” he breathes a soft kiss on the ticklish spot on Eugene’s neck, right below the ear, “I have the utmost faith in you.”

Gleefully, he notices goose bumps on Eugene’s skin, although the response he gets is as dry as he expected.

“The magical words I needed to hear to make this work.”

 

(Three hours later they will find out that there’s more truth to that statement than initially believed. But first it takes them another few minutes to let actions follow words. Which is alright, they suppose. After all, no one ends up having to sleep in the living room.)

 

 

In less than a week, their apartment becomes Babe’s favorite place in the city, if not the entire world. It’s perfectly situated, close enough to campus that they can walk if their bus gets lost in the city’s street maze, but far enough away to have some quiet from the student masses. There’s a pizza place down the street and a 24-hour supermarket right around the corner and, what Babe finds most important, there’s another apartment complex across the street with enough affordable space for Julian, Bill and Spina.

Then there’s of course their apartment itself, with the tiny bathroom in which Babe’s toothbrush is lying right next to Eugene’s, and where Eugene will nap on their couch under Mama Heffron’s self-made quilt when Babe comes home from his shift at the movie theater. Over the course of the months they’ve lived here, somehow ‘Eugene’s stuff’ and ‘Babe’s stuff’ has gradually turned into ‘their stuff’, which leaves Babe with a great variety of coffee mugs to choose from in the morning.

It’s pretty fucking great.

The only catch is that they don’t have A/C and while big windows and an abundance of natural sunlight is wonderful in theory, it makes for stifling hot summer days on which their apartment could easily be confused with a sauna.

It doesn’t even really cool down during the night, a fact that Babe gets to experience on his own body and soul. He’d wanted to get some more homework done as soon as the sun disappeared behind the city skyline, but it’s still way too hot for his brain cells to produce any sort of thought that isn’t a variation of “need - cooling - now”.

So, in an attempt to save his sanity, he’s long given up on productivity. Instead he stripped down to his boxer shorts and flopped down on the bed where he’s been dozing in starfish-position on his back for the better part of two hours now. (Working on his essay in thermal conditions like those currently prevalent is hard; actually sleeping without his favorite person next to him is practically impossible.)

Luckily, that problem solves itself just as Babe’s contemplating cuddling with one of the extra pillows.

Squinting through half-lidded eyes, he can vaguely make out the shape of Eugene coming into the bedroom, the white work-clothes easily recognizable despite the darkness of the room.

“You awake?” The whispered question is quickly followed by clothes landing in the general direction of the laundry hamper.

Babe’s reply is a mix between affirmative hum and suffering groan. He’s sure that just moving his vocal chords will bring about a new wave of heat and he’d rather avoid that. Which is why he doesn’t move an inch when Eugene tells him to scoot over and make room for another equally little-clothed body.

Eugene ends up having to physically shove Babe to the side to be able to squeeze himself onto the mattress as well.

While Babe can live with the manhandling, the comment, “You got your own side, not like you need the whole bed to yourself” is too much. Abandoning his minimum movement plan, he rolls over on his stomach, which brings him half on top of Eugene, with his lips pressed to the soft warm skin underneath Eugene’s collarbone and his arm falling none-too-gently over Eugene’s stomach.

By this point, Eugene is fairly well-acquainted with Babe’s habit of knocking the air out of his lungs. The body heat, however…

“Get off, it’s too hot,” he grumbles, trying to move away but the edge of the bed is right there. In the face of possible bruising from falling on the floor, he decides to stay put.

Babe, suddenly finding it far more satisfying to be a little shit than futilely attempting to find a cooling position, nuzzles even closer and presses his lips a little more deliberately to Eugene’s skin in something resembling a kiss. “You’re too hot.”

“Yeah, that’s my point.” The point is emphasized by another shove.

“Can’t sleep without you,” is all Babe says. He pillows his head more comfortably and finds that when he closes his eyes now, sleep feels but a few moments away.

He doesn’t know what Eugene’s complaining about. After a defeated sigh, Eugene’s asleep even before Babe. Babe takes this as a chance to tighten his grip around Eugene’s waist, then he follows him into the land of dreams, where the temperature is just right and no one comments on his lack of understanding for personal space.

 

 

There had been nothing, absolutely nothing, that could’ve prepared him for the accident. No bad omens, no black cats or ravens, no cliché horror movie road sign that warned “danger ahead”.

Babe wonders if that would’ve made it easier. Probably not. But what else is he supposed to think about while sitting in the waiting room of the ER, alternating between running his still shaking hands through his hair, and getting up to walk the few steps to the vending machine, stare at the displayed assortment without reading names or prices, and walking back to his incredibly uncomfortable chair?

There’s no one else here beside the nurse behind the reception desk, clicking away on her computer or sorting through files and papers. It doesn’t help Babe at all with the feeling of vertigo, the dizziness of utter helplessness and immobility of one half of his mind, and the destructive whirlwind of “what if”s of the other.

What he remembers of the actual accident keeps coming back in blurry flashes. Julian riding his bike down the sparsely illuminated street, wobbling slightly from the alcohol he must’ve drunk during the party even though he’d said he wouldn’t. The gleeful wave that made it impossible for Babe to be truly mad, even though he’d had to be outside in the cold at 3am. Blinding spotlights, screeching metal, screeching brakes, groans of pain.

Babe shakes his head and checks his phone again, hoping that there’s a new message underneath Eugene’s “be there in ten”.

There isn’t, but the door to the waiting room slides open. Babe practically jumps out of his seat, falls back into it in a moment of lost balance, and then he’s on his feet again as Eugene walks towards him, calm like a winter’s morning after heavy snowfall. Only the worried frown betrays the serene demeanor.

Still, Babe feels like he can finally breathe again.

“Thank god,” he mumbles, right into the crook of Eugene’s neck when he is pulled into a firm hug.

“Sorry, traffic wasn’t on my side,” Eugene says, a little out of breath.

For some absurd reason it makes Babe laugh. It has a hysterical edge to it, but it’s so much better than the shaky breaths he’s been taking the past hour.

He’s gently pushed down into his chair, and Eugene takes a seat right next to Babe, leaning close so their arms brush and Babe can rest his head on Eugene’s shoulder.

Babe is still anxious for news, for one of the doctor’s to come out of the operation room to tell him whether- to tell them that Julian’s a tough kid and will make it through. But the adrenaline is finally subsiding. His leg hasn’t resumed its jiggling and his eyelids are starting to feel heavy. The shaking of his hands, though, the clammy palms and not quite knowing what to do with them, that has stayed.

Eugene must notice because he takes Babe’s hand in his and carefully massages the back of it with a circular thumb motion.

With a sigh, Babe wills some of the tension out of his body. Then he raises their hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss on Eugene’s knuckles.

“Thanks for being here with me,” he whispers against the skin that is still cold from the chilly air outside. It’s strange, he thinks, how Eugene’s hands are always cold when he’s one of the warmest people in Babe’s life.

After he closes his eyes, the last thing he feels is the reassuring squeeze of his hand.

 

“Babe! Doorbell!” Julian’s voice coming from the living room is barely audible over the sound of sizzling eggs in the frying pan, some nineties movie on TV, and the radio playing obnoxious oldies.

With a sigh, Babe pushes the pan off the hot stove top and wipes his hands on a towel before getting on his way to the door. Not without stopping at the couch to give a broadly grinning Julian a displeased glare, though.

“Next time you gotta open it yourself. The doc says lying around all day isn’t gonna help.”

Julian points at his leg, still in its scribbled on cast and resting elevated on a couch cushion. “With that? You’d file a missing report before I get to the damn door.”

The doorbell rings again and Babe, shaking his head, resumes his path to open it for whoever is interrupting his attempt to get some food in his rumbling stomach.

“Well, maybe next time don’t get yourself run over by a car. Then we won’t have this problem ever again, and I won’t have to spend my time babysitting a twenty-one-year-old.”

He doesn’t mind it as much as he pretends to. Since Bill, Spina and Julian live in the apartment building just opposite Babe and Eugene’s, he only has to put on flip-flops and cross the street in an awkward noisy shuffle. And he’s nothing but incredibly grateful that the only consequences of the accident were a concussed head, a broken leg and a legitimate excuse to play video games with Julian for a prolonged amount of time.

Still…

“Who’s keeping me from eating my food?” is probably not the best thing to say when opening the door, but Babe doesn’t really care. As it turns out, it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s Eugene standing on the ‘Speak Friend and Enter’ doormat, already having changed from jeans into sweatpants and one of his old, washed-out hoodies.

Hungry or not, Babe’s mood immediately lifts.

“Guess that’d be me,” Eugene replies wrily, slightly rocking back on his heels. “Does that mean you won’t come back home with me?”

Babe groans. “I’d love to, trust me. But apparently I can’t leave,” he raises his voice, “this helpless baby -”

“Hey!”

“- to its own devices.”

A gleam brightens up Eugene’s eyes, making them look less exhausted from the day’s work. There’s even a discernible hint of mischief and hope. “Bill’s on his way up. Was talkin’ to Mrs. Jones when I passed him on the stairs.”

Feeling every bit of frustration leaving his body, Babe closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, a sigh escaping his mouth.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad -”

Before Eugene can finish the sentence, Babe, in one swift motion, has grabbed Eugene by the shirt front and hauled him over the threshold. The force brings their bodies close together so there’s barely any space left between them. From there, it doesn’t take much to press an open-mouthed kiss on Eugene’s lips.

After a second of being taken aback and making a surprised noise, Eugene relaxes and responds in kind, if not quite as enthusiastically as Babe. Getting on Babe Heffron’s level of enthusiasm is a pretty difficult thing to do, especially when said Babe Heffron is tired of the world and ready to throw himself into one of the few activities that always cheer him up.

“Christ, not in front of the kid, you philistines.” Completely disregarding the fact that Babe is currently enjoying some very nice mouth-to-mouth action, Bill shoulders past them, bag with groceries carried in front of him like a shield.

To Babe’s disappointment, it breaks both the mood and the kiss. He leans his forehead against Eugene’s, closes his eyes and gives a short, quiet chuckle while listening to Bill and Julian trading well-meant insults back and forth.

“You taste like chocolate,” he says, voice low. The moment has already passed but he’s still feeling the aftershock, the tingle on his lips and the fluttering in his stomach.

It’s ridiculous, really. After two years of being together, kisses aren’t exactly a novelty. He knows Gene’s mouth as well as the back of his hand. And yet, sometimes, usually when he expects it least, life manages to surprise him. It makes him want to run out into the street, flip flops and all, and shout out to the whole world just how fucking lucky he is. Right now, however, he contents himself with taking Gene’s hands in his and interlacing their fingers.

Eugene hums. “Renee brought some to our study meeting earlier.” With a quirk of his lips, he inclines his head and lowers his voice further, as if sharing a secret. “She gave me enough to last us ‘til the end of the month. I already put it in the candy cabinet.”

Babe makes a satisfied noise. “Let me grab my stuff and then get the hell outta here. After getting an appetizer like that, eggs just ain’t gonna be good enough.”

 

Babe isn’t a morning person per se.

Sure, he loves sleeping in, and waking up slowly instead of getting thrown out of bed by the monster that is their alarm clock. The thing is, once he’s past that stage of comfortable sleepiness, he has a hard time staying under the covers. And so it happens that he’s up and about at nine on a Saturday morning, lounging on the couch in his pyjamas with a bowl of cornflakes and watching cartoons.

Eugene, on the other hand, doesn’t share this particular trait with his boyfriend. On a day without class or work or other appointments, he refuses to get out of bed until noon, unless there’s a fire or someone fell down the stairs.

Normally, Babe indulges him and lets him sleep or doze for as long as he wants. Ensuring that Eugene gets enough sleep is pretty high on his list of priorities, and despite what Bill says, they’re not actually attached at the hip. Babe is totally capable of keeping himself busy, thank you very much.

Today, they don’t have the time for such luxuries.

After a quicker than usual breakfast, Babe dumps the bowl loudly into the sink and makes his way to the bedroom. (Since walking is for losers and he’s wearing thick socks for once, he mostly slides over the floor, like a skater minus the ice. At least this time he doesn’t end up breaking his little toe on the door jamb.)

When Babe got up earlier, he’d left the door slightly ajar, so all he has to do now is to give it a little nudge.

Just as expected, Eugene’s still right where Babe has left him. His back is turned to the window through which sunlight streams in and illuminates the countless flying dust motes over the bed. The sheets are tangled around the resting body, obscuring it completely save for the pale feet peeking out and the mess of dark hair on the pillow.

Little time or no, Babe takes just a second to relish the view. He feels a small pang of guilt at the thought of having to disturb this peaceful scene. It’s inevitable, though, so he might as well get it over with quickly.

With great enthusiasm Babe throws himself on the bed, landing half on his empty side and half on the lump under the blanket.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”

All he gets in response is a muffled, “Fuck off.”

“Now, now,” Babe admonishes as he brings himself into a more upright position. “No need to be rude. Don’t use that kinda language in front of my impressionable younger siblings.”

A grunt, devoid of any discernable meaning, is uttered and the sheets are gripped tighter, as if Eugene’s trying to wrap himself in a cocoon to hide away. As if that has ever stopped Babe from pestering him.

Babe sits cross-legged in front of the med student burrito, regarding it with amusement.

“Seriously? Don’t make me take away the blanket, you’re not five anymore, Gene.” He pokes the place where he suspects Eugene’s ribs to be. The lump squirms, but otherwise shows no intention of moving.

“Go ‘way.”

“Nuh-uh.” Babe tsks, intensifying the poking. “We got a flight to catch and you still need to pack. Mom’s still making passive-aggressive comments whenever my absence on last year’s Christmas comes up. She’ll yell at me for being a bad influence on you and all that shit if we don’t make it in time this year.” He pauses for a second to ponder this. “Or worse.” He punctuates the word with a jab. “She’ll throw you out of the family. We can’t have that.”

Eugene’s attempt at elbowing Babe’s hand aside is a complete fail due to the fact that he’s still wrapped in fabric with no room to move whatsoever.

“Shu’ up, she’d never.” He turns on his back, eyes blinking tiredly but menacingly up at Babe. It would be more intimidating if there weren’t a pillow crease running along the side of his cheek and his hair didn’t stick up in every possible direction.

Unable to resist the urge, Babe stretches out his hand and ruffles the unruly mess. It earns him a look through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t be so sure,” Babe warns, cheerful. He leans closer, bringing them face to face. For a few seconds he just hovers there, motionless, eyes fixed on Eugene’s as he’s watching the other become more awake with each passing second. Then, quick like a chameleon, his tongue darts out and licks a wet stripe on Eugene’s cheek.

“Not everyone loves you as much as I do,” is all he gets out when his tongue is back where it belongs.

Eugene, with unexpected agility, has fought his way out of the sheets and armed himself with a pillow, and all the yelping and flinging himself off the bed to safety can’t help Babe now.

He consoles himself with the knowledge that at least he’s found a new method to get Eugene out of bed, and his mom won’t have a reason for banning his boyfriend from the family table. (It’s totally worth having to hide the cleverly placed hickey on his neck, even if he gets tomato sauce on the scarf he’s forced to wear at all times.)

 

 

 

(He finds the list one day when it’s his turn to do the laundry. It’s hardly recognizable, just a weirdly shaped ball of paper with smeared, barely legible writing. The only discernible thing is “happy” and a random letter here and there.

The moment of mourning is interrupted by a text from Eugene, asking whether he should bring pizza on his way home or if they can invite themselves to Bill’s cook night.

Babe smiles, and keys in his reply.

Maybe it’s time for a new list, anyway.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the title, especially since it makes this sound like some M-rated fic when I can't even write proper mouth-to-mouth kissing B) 
> 
> Anyway. Thanks for reading, hope you have a lovely day or, as in my case, night!


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